The Power of a Sidekick
by SharKohen
Summary: Both Backstreet kids turned side-kicks by chance, Rocket and Robin II would have made interesting friends. But after tragedy strikes, and Jason undergoes a major alignment shift, can Raquel save him from the darkness? Or will she fail to reach him, just as the rest of his family and friends have? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. In case your wondering, I updated this 'coz I need to pay some credit, and do a grammar check.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice and their characters. "Fanfiction"'s on the site label. Duh. **

Part I: Parallels

"Robin, can I come in?"

Jason lay flat on his bed, eyes fixed on the whirling ceiling fan above him. If his mentor were here, he'd probably order him to practice his martial arts, or study villain profiles, or maybe just finish his algebra homework.

Well, he wasn't there, and Jason was glad of that. That's why he took a room in Mount Justice in the first place.

For the first couple of month, it had been rough, trying to fill into the shoes of his predecessor, both for Batman and for the Team. He couldn't boast that he managed to impress them all with the quick-wit humour the old Robin had, nor with any acrobatic grace, but the Team, grudgingly he suspected, eventually accept him as their own, and the Dark Knight came to terms with his new squire. As a matter of fact, Jason had actually started to enjoy the privileges of being the Boy wonder, whether weekending with the gang, or moonlighting the streets with as a masked hand of justice.

Then, he came back.

He had changed, definitely. New blue spandex, new escrima sticks, new name. But when he came, striding into Mount Justice platform through the Zeta-tubes, he got a hero's welcome, as if he hadn't just left a year ago just as suddenly.

Even Batman welcomed him back, well, in his usual gruff manner. Alfred had described their reunion as "the Prodigal son and his father." Jason had heard the story before. Supposing this was that story, then he would be the jealous brother, the one who stayed faithfully at home with his father. The one who didn't receive the feast and the celebration that his estranged brother did.

"Robin? Y'a there kid?"

He was well aware that he could have been prejudiced, but somehow, after 'Nightwing' showed up, everyone started acting, to put it kindly, _ansty_ around him. Aqualad and Artemis took turns to chastise him after every mission. Kid Flash, of all people, rebuked him for fooling around during mission time. And when he happened to slam one of the henchmen into the wall just a little too hard, _Superboy_ reprimanded him! As if the walking bulldozer never broke a few bones himself!

The worst of it came from Batman. He didn't always need to say out right, but Jason could feel them vibrating off him. Disapproval, followed by disappointment.

The knocking was persistent. "Yo, R-ob?"

He wasn't Robin. Not the one everyone wanted, anyhow. Without getting up, he said aloud, "Take a left turn down to the hall, then two doors to the right. He goes by another name. It's bird related, so you'll work it out."

A moment later, his room door slid open and the visitor stepped in. Jason didn't budge an inch, even though his shades were lying somewhere on the sheets. Without lifting his head, he squinted at the girl standing at the foot of his bed. She stared back at him, mouth hanging open slightly.

"What? He demanded of her pointedly, swinging his arms back against the pillow with an air of annoyance.

"Nothing, nothing," she quickly replied, a bit too quickly perhaps. Maybe she'd heard about his 'violence tendencies' from Superboy? Super.

He decided that ignoring her would eventually drive her away, so he continued to look intently at the ceiling fan, as if there was some fascinating to see. At the corner of his eye, he noted that she, having closed the door behind her, seated herself comfortably by his work desk, examining the clutter on it.

"Soooo, you wan'na talk about it?" She asked rather conversationally, picking up one of the batarangs to look at it.

"Don't touch that," Jason said automatically, though it was rather half-hearted. He supposed she talking about the fight. The fight.

A few days ago, after another mission, where he had, once again, failed to live up to the expectations of a Robin. Just as Aqualad was giving him one of the regular chiding sessions, somehow, something in him just snapped. Rather irrationally, he thought on hindsight, he swore at his team leader, much to the Atlantean's surprise, and to the rest of the team's disgust. When he didn't immediately apologise, one by one, the team started voicing their opinion on his 'contributions' to the team (well, to be fair, M'gann was a little more tactful). Then of course, Nightwing came along. The older boy said some things, though reasonable as it sounded, all it did was infuriated the younger boy. And the whole thing just erupted.

The hullabaloo finally died down when Batman intervened, but things didn't get any better. The Dark Knight took him aside in the Mission Room, not the Cave, ad berated him there and then.

"You shattered his collar-bone."

"He was a drug-dealing pimp! I didn't think that I had to throw in some pillows before I took him out!"

"The mission was to interrogate! Not incapacitate! You put him in a shock!"

"…Sorry. That was dumb…But he deserved it."

It's been nearly two days now. He hadn't returned to the manor since. Even in his tenure in Mount Justice, the team avoided him like a plague. Who would want to talk to the idiot who had gall to incur the wrath of the Bat? And so foolishly too?

Well, besides her, obviously.

"Well?" she asked, rather impatiently.

"No, now leave me alone," he growled, burying his head in his pillow.

"Try to be grateful, squirt. F.Y.I. not a lot of people are on speaking terms with you," she remarked, feigning a throw with the batarang, but catching it back at the last moment.

"You don't say," was the muffled reply.

She didn't take the hint. "Give a g'al credit when it due and open up a little, eh Robbie?"

"Stop calling me that!"

She looked up to gaze at the furious boy, bolt upright on his bed, glaring at her with his two_ eyes. Slowly and with considerably vengeance, he spoke again, "I'm not him, okay? And I'll never be. Sorry, team, sorry, Bats, the replacement needs replacing. Oh wait, I have been replaced! By the original too! Brilliant! Now y'all can kick me out."

There was a cold moment of silence, as Jason sank back onto the bed, feeling both tired and relieved after venting his pent-up emotions.

She, however, barely changed her expression. " Okay, not-Robin, what d'ya want me to call y'a, then?"

Jason heaved a sigh, before rolling his eyes. Was she trying to pull some kind of psychological therapy through reflection? Still, it was a good question. He couldn't tell her his real name; Batman would be fuming if he'd knew she'd seen his face, anyway, and he wasn't going down that road again. For cases like this, maybe just a simple nickname. Something like…

"Just call me 'Hood'," he told her.

Her face changed from one of skepticism to amusement. "Hood? Like _Robin_ Hood? Seriously?"

"Before 'Robin' got a name, he wanted to call himself 'Hood', like Robin Hood. Batman didn't agree, of course, and made changed it to 'Robin'," he explained to her rather dryly. "Since I'm kind in the reject shop of sidekicks, I suppose I should take up a reject name. When I do my solo gig, that is."

"Solo gig?" She repeated, an eyebrow shooting up.

"Yep," he confirmed, with a slight grin on his face from her shock, "being a sidekick sucks. Obviously. I mean that's why Robin 1.0 turned into Nightwing."

"Whoa! Hold your horses, mister! Sidekicks suck? Am I hearing this?"

"Clean your ears, Rocket. Welcome to the reality," he informed her with certainty, starting to enjoy himself for the first time in two days.

"Well, I'll be!" She exclaimed, unknowingly rising from her seat. "Well, then I've got something say to that, Hoodster! So you clean your ears and listen up!"

Wheeling the chair over his bedside, she adjusted it such that she could right next to him. Jason just tucked his hands behind his head. She was probably going to berate him, so he might as well get comfy.

"Y'a know my boss? Icon?"

"Yeah, what about him?" Jason replied lazily, picking up his shades and cleaning them.

"Well, the first time we met, he was this top-notch lawyer in the uptown, and I was a street kid in bad company."

Jason's eyes widened open with interest. This sounded like a familiar opening…

Rocket started to look rather ill at ease at this point. "It happened when my gang and I were like, um, robbing his house, and there was chaos, then I found he was an alien, or at least super-being I thought. It was really awkward, come to think about it-"

As she recounted the events, Jason's mind couldn't help wander back to the first day he met Batman. It was in some grubby old alley, that he could barely remember, where he had found the state-of-the-art Bat-mobile parked there. Seeing no one around, he had whipped out his crowbar, and started working on the wheels. A fellow had to eat, after all, state-of-the-art or no.

While he was at it, a dark shadow fell on him. Swinging around, he came face to face with the Dark Knight himself. Well, Batman was kind of in the shadows, so all he could see was his towering figuring, with two menacing whites slits on his mask glowering at him.

Awkward wasn't how he would have described it. It was more like … pant-wetting.

"-And then I convinced him with all that power, he could be a superhero! An inspiration, a symbol,-"

"An icon," Jason finished for her, nodding his head approvingly.

"Exactly. And I designed the costumes for us-"

"Us?"

"Didn't you know? Both of us started hero work on the same day. And, duh! It was my idea. Anyway, Icon needed lots of guidance. For an alien who lived so long amongst humans, he was pretty green at relating to them. You could say, I'm his anchor to humanity."

When she was paused for a moment, she noticed that Jason had gone quiet. He was actually thinking about the stuff she had said. That's good.

"Y'know, Robin's kind of like that too," she continued. When the boy who called himself 'Hood' now gave her an incredulous look, she went on to explain.

"Batman has good intentions and everything, but he's always so, well, dark and scary and stuff. He's always running on rooftops, or driving in the Bat-mobile. It makes it hard for him to relate to ordinary folk. That's what Robin's for. Robin's the lighter side of the Dark Knight; the one who keeps him keeps him from falling into the darkness; the one who keep him caring for the people, and not just the job; the one who keeps him a hero. And that's why, young Hoodster, sidekicks don't suck."

Jason didn't say a word, but she didn't need to hear one. She already knew her whole pep talk already reached the boy when he flicked open his shades and placed them back on the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, Hoodster, I best be going," she told him, heading towards the door.

"Rocket."

She stopped at the door to look at the boy on the bed. "Yeah, Hood?"

"Call me Robin."

A small smile crept on her face. "Sure thing, Rob."

"Um, and thanks."

She just grinned at him, then slid the door behind her.

~~~~000000~~~~~

"What do you mean Batman didn't call this meeting?"

"He didn't! I thought it was Aqualad."

"I certainly did no such thing."

"Oh, damn it! Wally, if this is another silly prank, I will murder you-"

"Hey, I so did not-"

"I did."

Everyone in the mission room turned to face the small boy garbed in black and red spandex.

"Oh, look, Kid Blunder's here," Wally remarked, rather snarkily, and promptly received a jab in the ribs from Artemis.

Robin cleared his throat rather uneasily. With all those unfriendly eyes staring at him, he felt rather nervous. However, when his eyes met those of Rocket's, he gulped down his fear and begun to speak.

"I've called you all here today to make an announcement of sorts, and –oh yeah, erm, I'm sorry for yelling at you," he apologized to Aqualad. The Atlantean exchanged questioning looks with Nightwing, who just shrugged in the end. Rocket, however, was wearing a smug and somewhat triumphant expression.

"Right, to the announcement. I've been giving some thought, about what it means to be a hero, a team member, and a sidekick. Largely the sidekick bit."

"Um, I thought we agreed that we weren't sidekicks anymore," M'gann whispered to Zatanna, who shook her head in confusion.

"And, I think I finally understand what it means to be a Robin. As a sidekick to Batman, he's the one who keeps Batman on the straight and narrow, and he's also the one who people can relate to, of the two. That's why he always cracks jokes and stuff, I guess."

"He's talking about you, pixie-boots," Kid Flash hissed in Nightwing's ear, before dissolving into light chuckles.

"The point is, I'm still rather new at this whole hero gig, and obviously I'm not working well with the team," – he noted a nod from the rather grim Superboy – "so, I think I better go back to my roots. _Robin's_ roots. To learn what to be a hero, by first learning how to be a sidekick. In other words, I'm quitting the team to go full-time with Batman."

There was a stunned silence as news sank in. Two days ago, any of them would have more than happy to send Robin the 2nd edition packing, but after the sincere, though graceless, speech, they somehow felt rather … reluctant.

"Are you certain of this decision, Robin?" Aqualad asked him, concerned.

"Yeah," Kid Flash put in, "you're going miss out a lot of fun with Bats breathing down your neck 24/7."

Sober and sure, Robin nodded. "This is something I have I to do."

"We'll miss you!" Miss Martian suddenly cried, swinging over to envelope him in a hug.

"Um… thanks?" He replied, uncertain about her sincerity. However, since she was Miss Martian, he didn't have much doubt.

After M'gann released him, Artemis headed over to him, wordlessly giving him a small squeeze on the shoulder. One by one, team members bade him farewell, either coming with advice, or with hugs, or with short grunts (in Superboy's case). When it came to Nightwing, Robin noted the hesitation behind the mask.

Slowly, the elder boy stuck his hand out. "Um, good luck in your venture, I guess?"

After a moment of thought, Robin took the hand and shook it firmly. "Thanks. "

All too eager to get it over with, Nightwing pretty much ran off after he parted with Robin. Soon, it was just Rocket left.

"Y'know," she told him with a sly grin on his face, "if it doesn't work out, you can always switch back to 'Hood'. I was thinking you could call yourself 'Red Riding Hood', then 'Hood' for short. What d'ya say, Reddie Ridin' Flippin' Hoodster?"

Robin feigned a punch at her, but he grinned back. "Sorry, I'm going to Robin for so time. And Red is such a girl's colour."

"Oh yeah? Then why're you wearing so much of it?" Her joking manner slipped into a serious one. "You ready, kid?

"Totally."

"Alright. " Saying that, she embraced him. Robin was slightly taken aback at this, for the lack of a better term, non-badass behaviour. As uncomfortable as he felt, he just hugged her back.

When they finally let go of each other, Robin got ready to leave. As he made his way to the Zeta-tubes, Rocket called out to him. "Hey, Robin Hood."

He swung around to face her. "Yeah?"

"You'd better be hero by the next time I see you. If not, don't bother coming back."

"Gee, thanks," he answered, with no small amount of sarcasm.

…_Recognise: Robin B-14 …_

The last thing he ever saw at Mount Justice was the wide grin on Rocket's face.

**Hope you enjoyed it! In case you're wondering, the back-stories are pretty canonical to DC comics (pre-reboot), though I've only read second-hand information, and perhaps Grieg Weisman imagined out differently for YJ. Who can say?**

**The short argument between Batman and Robin is based on a scene from the movie "Under the Red Hood." **

**Part II may come in about 1-2 weeks time. F.Y.I. This story is going to fairly short, like I'll probably end after part III or IV.**

**Review if you like it, Critique if you don't. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the views and reviews, guys! Hope you'll enjoy the next part. Well, maybe.**

**Note: This takes place some time (like three months) after the previous part. And a little warning? It may sad.**

Part II: Eulogy

"-Too often as protectors of justice, it is easy to forget that we are mortal too. And when the revelation comes, it comes, more often than not, as a bitter pill. But friends, I do not believe mortality in any way diminishes us, but instead glorifies what we do. Robin was well aware of the risks, but still he took them, like any of us would. That was his sacrifice, and also his greatest achievement."

The team stood silent as his words echoed through the grotto, each of them eyes fixed on the glowing holographic image of the latest Boy Wonder.  
Everyone was garbed in mourning attire, and wore equally grave expressions. It was probably as solemn as the actual funeral itself; the one that no one was allowed to attend but Nightwing.

Turning the old grotto beneath Mount Justice into a memorial was actually was actually Kid Flash's idea, having drawn inspiration from the rows of massive statues in the Hall of Justice. Everyone scoffed the idea when he first mentioned it, of course, largely because they had been believed they would never need it.

How confident they had been of their invulnerability then.

Having said all that he could say, Kaldur stepped away from the holographic image, joining his teammates in their silent virgil for the one who was once their youngest member. Some of them, like Kid Flash, cast expectant glances at Nightwing, and he felt increasing uneasy as more of them did. He knew that he ought to say something. Dammit, he was the first Robin! In a way, Jason was his protégé as much as he was Batman's, and perhaps even kind of a brother.

But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Not a word for the boy who wore his old costume; the boy who took up the job he refused to do any longer; the boy who carried responsibilities, _his_ old responsibilities, and paid the price for it.

A cold hush swept by the room as Raquelle emerged from the crowd of mourners to go up where the holographic figure was, turning to face the rest of her team.

"Y'know, I think none of us really knew Robin - this Robin very well. And whatever we did know of him was that he was bratty, arrogant, hotheaded, and altogether quite a regular pain in the neck."

Another silence followed, but it was one of shock rather than somberness. Kaldur's eyes widen with considerably surprise. Zatanna shook her head slightly; trying to signal to her friend to stop whatever crazy thing she had planned. Wally's mouth just hung open, while Artemis raised an eyebrow in incredulity. M'gann looked uncomfortable as she took the hand of her boyfriend, who was probably the only one nodding at what Raquelle said. Nightwing was the only who didn't react. At least on the outside.

Raquelle was undisturbed by their responses. Obviously, she had expected them. "No point pretendin', kids. If y'know you didn't like, the least you can do is have the guts to own it up. Let's start with me," – she made a gesture at herself –" I thought he was unnecessarily cocky and irritatingly smart-alec-ish at times. But hey, doesn't it remind you, at least a little of a certain self-absorbed speester?"

Wally found himself blushing slightly as he recalled the number of times he boasted about himself, or flirtedly unabashedly with the girls, or showed off to the others. _How many times Artemis wanted to kill him…_

"And he's impulsive? Rebellious? Well, which of us hasn't gone through some point in our lives where we just felt like fighting the world? C'mon, we're teens for crying out loud. Heading head-on into danger? It's what we do everyday."

As he held M'gann closely to himself, Connor couldn't help but think back about his more 'unruly' days, when he would disobey instructions on a regular basis, or he would completely disregard plans in favor of jumping into the fight. Perhaps the 'replacement Robin' and him had much in common after all.

"The point I'm trying to drive at," Raquelle was explaining, "is that the faults that we hated about Robin are faults we were once guilty ourselves. In other words, these faults didn't determine how good or poor a hero he was."

" As you know, six months ago, Robin left to go full time with Batman, to learn 'to be a hero by being sidekick', in his very own words. And I believed that he had accomplished this more than we could ever know."

She paused now to remove a slip of paper from one of her side pocket, unfolding it before reading it aloud. "Yo Rocks. Had hostage case yesterday, typical sort. After a super long argument, I got Batman save the hostages while I defused the bomb. When he placed a boy back to the arms of his mum, I think I saw a smile on his face. Not the creepy one. I mean, for a moment he looked almost … happy. I d'unno. Do you think I need an eye check, or has Bats been replaced by a zombie/robot?"

There was a small chuckle from someone in the group, which was immediately suppressed when the others turned to frown.

Folding the paper and putting it back in her pocket, Raquelle continued. "That was the last email I received from Robin, two months ago. I told him to get an eye check, of course, but that's not the point. Through the many letters he sent, I could see that him progressively growing in understanding what it a sidekick did. Finally, it became so inherent in him that he probably didn't realise it, but whenever he did something, he helped bring out, little by little, the kinder, better side into his mentor."

"Of all of us, Robin was the very first sidekick that ever existed in all of hero-dom. Of course, it was Robin senior over there who started it, " – nodding at Nightwing- "Nonetheless, Robin 2.0 lived up to the legacy, alright. Not just to the Dynamic Duo legacy, but to legacy of sidekicks, and teen heroes. He lived a hero, he died a hero, and he now lives on as a legend, a hero that other kids like us will look up to."

Her voice was clear and firm, her eyes were gleaming bright, but perhaps the only the sharpest ears would detect the wavering in her voice, and the most observant the trembling of her hands.

A slow clap started somewhere in the cave, and it spread around as everyone applauded the short, but fulfilled life of the boy they had known for so brief a time.

After an hour, everyone pretty much filed out back upstairs. Nightwing himself was about to leave, but watching Raquelle standing alone before the memorial, he couldn't. So he joined her, still gazing at the holographic image.

"It's kind of my fault, y'know," she told him, without looking away from the glowing blue figure.

"Because of the pep talk that you gave him before he left?" Nightwing asked.

Raquelle was going to inquiry how he knew that, but then dropped it. "Yeah."

"Considering the danger involved in our line of work, it would have made little difference."

There was a pained pause, before she spoke again. "How did it happen? If there's anything you can tell-"

"I'm sorry. Batman's orders," Nightwing replied, genuinely apologetically. "All details kept strictly confidential. He probably wouldn't have told the Team if he could help it."

"I guess he would, hey?" An ironic grin twisted on her face, though Nightwing noted it was slightly resentful. After a moment of thought, he made his decision.

"His name's Jason, by the way. Just so you don't confuse the two 'Robins'," he added the explanation hastily.

"Jason, huh?" she repeated almost questioningly. "Like a blue-jay? A bird? So what's yours? Let me guess; Pelican Jr.?"

"Haha, of course," he answered dryly.

The girl was turned back to the image, staring it for a moment. Breaking the silence again, she asked, "Did he really die? Like a hero?"

Nightwing was felt that that discomfort he had earlier on rushing back. The truth of what happened was still unclear to the rest of the team; all they knew was Batman and Robin were taking on the Joker, an ex-member of the Injustice League, when the maniac took Robin down. They didn't know that Robin was kidnapped, tied in a desolated warehouse in the middle of a whole lot of desolated warehouses, while Batman was sent on a fool's errand elsewhere, arriving to the scene just as that warehouse blew up. There, he pillage through rubble, only to find a crumpled body garbed in red and black.

Jason–Robin didn't die as a hero saving the world; he didn't die as a sidekick protecting his mentor from the forces of evil; he died because of a mistake. A mistake from the very man he had sworn to protect. The man he called a hero.

And that was something the Team could never know.

"Yeah."

Putting her hand on the memorial, looking up at the image, she finally said, with no small amount of emotion, "S'long, Rob-Jason. Glad that you came home pretty heroic after all. You've made me proud."

Two people stood in the dark of the grotto, remembering the same boy who had passed on a week ago. One had sorrowful joy in her heart; one had conflicted remorse in his.

**That was rather painful to write. S'long, Jay. **

**There'll probably one more part to this, in two more weeks time, maybe? One thing I've been asking myself: Should there be a Red Hood?**

**Review if you like it. Critique if you don't.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, sorry for the late posting, even though I promised every two weeks. This part will take place about 3 years later, just before YJ: Invasion starts.**

Part III: Friends  
"'The Heroes of Our Time'. Wow. Sounds classy. Still, I'd thought you'd go for fiction."

"It is," Her friend explained, placing down her cup. "It's about how a group of teens with superpowers, and how they struggle to become superheroes while facing the usual adolescence issues."

There was a silence as both girls absorbed what she had just said, their eyes widening almost simultaneously. Raquel was the first to speak.

"Oh my gosh, it's sounds just like...-"

"-us," Barbara finished for her. Quickly, both of them glanced around them. Fortunately, the diner was mostly empty, with only an old man sitting at the bar, drinking pint after pint. Looking back each other again, both burst into peals of laughter.

"Okay, okay, so _not_ original," Raquel confessed between chuckles, "I guess I'll write something else-"

"No, no, it's fine," Barbara interrupted, rearranging the scripts in her hand, "It's a great idea, actually. I can't wait to read it." Folding up the scripts, she slipped into her leather bag. "And don't worry. I'll be frank."

"Thanks," Raquel said with simple sincerity. There was a short moment of silence, as Raquel awkwardly, no, nervously looked away, as if contemplating about something. Barbara watched carefully for a moment, before deciding to restart the conversation.

"I've heard the news from Dick, by the way. Congratulations!"

Raquel stared blankly at her for a moment, raising her brow questioningly.

Barbara rolled her eyes, before clarifying, "You guys are going to join into the Big Leagues?"

"Oh, right." Raquel nodded slowly.

"I heard WW herself nominated you. Word is she wanted you in even before you joined the Team."

"No way!" Raquel exclaimed, obviously delighted. Barbara smiled. At least she wasn't acting all detached again.

"I can't wait for my turn," she mused, while Raquel was helped herself to another slice of pie, " It's pretty cool to be in the world's biggest superhero team.

Raquel grinned slightly. "In good time, kiddo. But,"- she placed her fork down, her expression becoming serious again, "I don't think I want to leave the Team. Not yet, anyway."

Barbara's eyes widened in surprised. "Why not?"

"The League's... it's a team. A wonderful team, and to be invited is an honour, and stuff. But the Team, _our_ Team, its family. And I don't want our team - family to keep losing people."

There was another cold silence, while Barbara stretched her hand over to Raquel's, giving her a knowing squeeze. It hadn't been easy, the last two weeks. Their battle against Klarion hadn't be all while successful, wasn't exactly victorious. Gently, she asked, "How's Kal holding up?"

"Barely. He's gone AWOL, if you haven't heard," replied Raquel, barely hiding her bitterness. She had always reserved a soft spot for Kaldur, but he never quite returned in kind. Understandably, Tula was his first love, and she was a wonderful person; kind, good, self-sacrificing...

All the same, she wished he'd open up to her, at least as a friend, if nothing more. The horror in his eyes when he heard the news, and the unspoken grief he carried on his shoulders, she could tell. She knew he needed really, really needed a friend. Everyone had their valley of shadow, and friends were meant to walk with them through it.

"Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it," the redheaded admitted, almost ashamed. "Fighting the 'never-ending battle'. Everyday, my dad goes to work, I'm afraid I'll never see him again."

"No kidding, alright," Raquel said, stirring her coffee. "Still, it's part of the job description."

"To die young?"

"To be a hero, and to die as one. Regardless of age. "

Another pause descended on the girls. It seemed that those formed a majority of conversations these days; moments of contemplations; moments of doubts; moments of grief.

Yet of hope.

Barbara raise her coffee cup, holding it as if a glass. "To Friends."

A small smile crept on Raquel's face, as she raised her own. "To Family."

**Well, that's all for now. Sorry it ended up being mostly Babs and Raq, but there'll be more of Jason later. While this chapter seems out of place, it'll make more sense when the rest come in.****  
****According to Wikipedia, Rocket dreamed of a becoming a writer, so that's why she's writing a book.****  
****After Part II, I actually struggled to come up with the next chapter. I was actually writing the first meeting between Tim Drake and Raquel at first, but I dumped it eventually. I'm having a temporary break (from work, not writing) now, so hopefully Part IV will come out soon too.**

**As a token of my 'goodwill', I decided to put this part here instead of the next chapter as originally planned.**

_Somewhere in East End Gotham _

Heather sighed as she fit the key into her door. It was her third day at her new job since she left, well, the place-which-shall-not-be-named, and honestly, she wasn't handling the job transaction very well. Not that she ever did.

Giving a long yawn, she shut the door behind, her sliding the lock into place. Kicking off her shoes, she called out into the dark apartment, "BABIES! MOMMIE'S HOOOOMMMEEE!"

Oddly enough, all that echoed back to her was an eerie silence. Harl-erm-Heather reached her hand out to flick the light switch, but nothing happened.

This couldn't be good.

Warily, Heather crept over to the cabinet nearby, quietly opening the doors as she blindly felt for what she was looking for, the thing that she kept for "emergency purposes". Feeling the wooden handle in her hands, she drew out an over-sized mallet, raising it above her head, waiting for whatever ,or whoever, was out there.

Then she heard a whimper. To her left. The kitchen.

Quickly, she tiptoed her way there, nervously glancing around. A shiver went down her spine, and she felt rather embarrassed about it. Why, if Mistah J. ever saw like this…

No! What was she doing? That louse was the one who got her in the "place-that-shall-not-be-named" in the first place. She promised all the nice doctors she'd try. That's why they'd let her out in the first place.

She felt the cold tile floor of the kitchen against her feet. The whimpering sound was louder now. Edging closer to where she could hear it, she noticed a bundle on the floor. It was dark, but Heather could make it out what it was.

Her pet hyenas. Tied up together, and their jaws muzzled shut.

Heather felt a surge of anger rising in her. "That does it! Who's there?"

There was no answer, but Harl-Heather could have sworn something – or someone – moved in the shadows.

She called out again. "Show yourself! And maybe I won't hit you so hard."

Suddenly, something hard and sharp came flying at her, and before she knew it, the mallet was yanked out of her hands. Her initial fury slipped away, replaced by a growing sense of fear.

Trembling from head to toe, she squeaked hesistantly, "B-batman?"

Out of nowhere, a bright light shot onto her face. Momentarily shocked, she stumbled back, falling to the ground as she did. Shaking her head, she saw that the light was coming from a flashlight, with someone holding it close to her face.

"Heather Quinter. What kind of name is that? Of course, you and I know that Heather Quinter doesn't really exist. " The dark figure seemingly spat out in disgust. She noticed that she couldn't see any lips moving, because, whoever it was, was wearing a mask. A full-face red mask.

"What the he-"

"Shut up!" The figure yelled, pushing her roughly back against the ground. Even with the light in her eyes, Ha-Heather noted he was holding something against her forehead.

The person, if he was really a person, spoke again. "They released you last week on the grounds that you've 'recovered'. But from that giant mallet over there, I guess your breed never 'recovers', eh, _Harley Quinn_? Evil is a disease that cannot be cured, after all, only eliminated."

Harley was shaking badly now. It was definitely not Batman. A gun barrel was resting on her forehead after all. Whoever it was, was definitely much, much worst.

Her throat dry with fear, she croaked, "W-w-who are you?"

"I'm _so_ hurt, Harley gal, that you don't remember me," the figure said, the mockery still apparent even through the voice-filter. "Well, we've never met exactly, but you should recognise this." To make his point clearer, he leaned closer, such that light from the torch illuminated a portion of his mask.

Harley stared closely at it, her mind going over every single 'hero' or 'villian' she had ever met. Then she realised that where she had seen it before. It wasn't in her time as Harley Quinn, but back in her first job as the psychiatrist Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She was going over the file of her first patient, and only, at the Asylum, and there she saw a picture of a similar red mask.

Involuntarily, she let out a gasp. "Mistah J?

Even though she couldn't the face behind the mask, she felt that the figure was smirking.

"'Fraid not the 'Mistah J' you're thinking of, Harley," he answered, almost casually as he pressed the barrel harder against her temple. She winced, and she uneasily felt that he was smiling.

"But _a_ 'Mistah J' nonetheless…"

******Review if you like it, Critque if you don't.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I hope you like the fact this part came up faster. I went for a writing class, and ended up writing all this there. Just to note, for this particular arc, the style would slightly different in the sense that it would be a continuous story instead of one-shots in I and II.**

**Enjoy**

YJ Fanfic Part IV: Rescue

"Talk."

He knitted his brows together. "This isn't your concern."

"Yeah, right. He was-is my friend! I deserve to know!"

"Firstly, this is Gotham business. Secondly, if you now know how he died, you know why we couldn't and can't tell anyone."

Rocket felt like doing two things; firstly, she wanted to sock his face, though he could probably block that; secondly, she wanted to grab him and throw him into space. But there was no time for that.

That's why she left, zeta-tubing herself straight to Gotham, and taking off above the city. She didn't have time to raise her voice, or even get angry. She had a job to do.

"So you've found out," a familiar buzzed through the commlink.

Raocket cursed, though not particularly at the speaker. She answered, "I was the one who found Robin after he went MIA post-mission, Babs. He was in an abandoned warehouse, tied with a time bomb and a crowbar. He didn't have a choice but to explain."

She could hear Barbara sighing on the other end. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

Rocket just continued staring down at the dark streets, looking, yet not sure what she wanted to find. "I need to find him."

"…I don't think you'd really want to."

"I _need_ to find him, Babs," Rocket repeated firmly. "From what I've heard, he needs help. My help."

"He's beyond help now."

"You never met him before - you know," Rocket pointed out.

"True, but I know enough to know that Red Hood isn't exactly Jason anymore. I'm sorry, but that's the truth."

Rocket could tell she was truly apologetic, but what was meant to deter made her more determinded instead. "I'll need to find that out for myself. For now, I'm going for saving him."

Waiting for some kind of objection, Rocket was surprised by what Barbara said next.

"Alright. How can I help?"

~~~~000000~~~~~

"I hope you've liked your stay so far."

Startled, Harley jolted awake, accidentally knocking herself over as she did. As she came crashing against the stone-tiled floor, Harley winced visably as she felt her fingers being crushed under the combined weight of herself and the hard wooden chair. She would have cried out in pain, had it not been for the gag in mouth.

From the corner of eye, she noted that he had paused at the top of the stairs, almost hesitant. Though his red mask hid his face, Harley felt as if half of him wanted to help her up; while the other ignore her.

Eventually, the latter won out, since he headed straight to the table in the centre of the room without glancing at her again. In response, Harley tried shift herself slightly, straining to see what he was doing.

By the table that stood in front of the central cogwheel in the attic, he was dropping some stuff, before reloading his handguns.

"Sorry I'm late, got sidetracked," he told her conversationally, holding a small object – some small radio device, it seemed. "Met a – _little bird_ on the way."

Harley just continued squirming, but she was getting tired. The pain in her fingers were starting to become get numb, and her neck was too strained to watch him anymore, so she turned her gaze upward, to the elaborate cog and wheel system above her.

"You know," she heard him talking, his voice echoing slightly in the attic. "You have quite a history, Ms. – Dr. Quinn. A talented student, an ambitious graduate, a promising psychiatrist with a great future." The laugh that came from behind the mask was cynical and bitter. "Quite a contrast to myself, really."

"Mmmphf!" was all Harley to get out, scrunching her face into a frown in spite of the tape over her lips.

"Yes, enough small talk, I suppose," he replied, swinging his handgun carelessly in his hand. Abruptly, he fired a round at the stonewall before him. Shocked, Harley didn't even noticed she was holding her breath. Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled up. Upright again, she was staring face to face with the red mask again. In his gloved hand, he was toying with his automatic. Harley could feel her pulse quickening.

When he raised his empty hand, Harley flinched, though she wasn't sure why. Slowly, his hand went to his mask, removing it to reveal that a smaller domino mask just covering his eyes. His hair was jet-black, with a single white-lock dangling against his forehead. But it was his face that Harley stared at. There were scars on his cheeks that spoke more than his grim lips ever would. He wasn't very old; in a matter of fact, he appeared slightly younger than herself. Yet the Dr Quinzel in her could tell that he was one who had been through great hurt, yet great happiness; great excitement, but also great betrayal. There was also something else, some quality, some trait that felt quite unfamiliar in her…

He leaned close to her. "I still have forgiven you for wrecking my camera phone. It set back my plans by an entire week," he hissed, his unfiltered voice just as steely. Raising his gun, he aimed at the barrel at her forehead.

Even though she had been taught better than that, Harley shut her eyes tightly, shuddering, praying that it would end soon.

Then she heard a 'click'. An empty barrel.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

The man rolled his head back in disgust, flinging his gun aside. "Magazine these days such a rip off."

"Mmmphf-hmmphf-hmmphf!" Harley tried to laugh at him, though she was still shaking in fear.

The man glared at her for a moment, before shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. "Ah, well, I guess I'll just have to borrow a camera then. In a matter fact, I know exactly what to do."

Gradually, his grim frown twisted into a dark, almost sadistic grin.

Then it hit her. That trait… It was unfamiliar to the young, inexperienced Dr. Quinzel, but quite familiar to Harley Quinn.

Irrationality.

~~~~000000~~~~~

Somewhere in the out-skirts of Gotham stood the towering, gothic home of the criminally insane. While the inmates were pretty much the nut jobs described in the facility name, they didn't spend their entire lives creating havoc, and poison gas, and giant man-eating plants. Sometimes they did ordinary things, like eating chips on a couch and watching TV.

That what Pamela Isley a.k.a Poison Ivy was doing in the asylum lounge. Of course, she had ensured that the manufacturers of chips didn't destroy any vegetation. The news channels was playing on the telly, reporting the opening of new industrial plants by Stagg Industries, and she was carefully noting all the members involved. Might be useful someday, after all.

Behind her, she heard the metal bars of the lounge door clinking open as the guards led another patient in.

"Move over, Isley," one of the guards ordered her. Rolling her eyes, Pamela slid herself over to another side, as the patient, bound in a straitjacket, sank into the seat beside her.

"Ivy," he greeted, with his usual dark grin.

"Joker," she returned emotionlessly. It had been four years since the Injustice League had disbanded. Since then much had happened, and in the process relations between member had soured considerably – not that they ever liked each other much in the first place.

Pamela glanced at that the clock across the room. It was only 7 o'clock. "I thought your break time was at 8."

"Oh it is," the Joker rasped, his grin widening. "But I managed to get off for – heeheehee – good behaviour. Now would you be a good vegetable and flip the channel? I would myself but-" jerking his head at the straitjacket "-my hands are tied."

Deciding that giving up her privilege wasn't worth the satisfaction of strangling him, Pamela grudgingly picked up the remote. "Anything in mind? Whatever's in there, of course."

The Joker just flashed his teeth at her and chortled a little. "Oh, the G. Gordon Godfrey show, if you don't mind. He's quite a … character."

"That maniac? Who goes around tearing down people for the most senseless reasons? Why would you – oh nevermind." Conceding to his request, she hit the buttons, her face speaking her loathing for both him and the show.

The Joker jumped up slightly in excitement as the show came, while Pamela snorted contemptuously. Rising from her seat, she headed to the door. To the guard there, she said, "I'll be going back to my cell now, if you don't mind."

He wordlessly produced a pair of cuffs, which resignedly placed her wrists into. Locking them, he slid open the lounge door, where another two guards outside led her away.

She wished Harley were here. Not that she wished that the dear idiot would be incarcerated again, but it would be good to have more female company. She knew that she should count herself lucky that she was considered, well, 'insane' enough not be in Bel Reve, but if there was one thing hated more than meat bag, it was male meatbags.

Still, she was fond of Harley. And as long as Harley stayed in Arkham, she would be controlled by that psycho she called her "Mistah J", to imprisoned both in mind and body by him, over and over.

Wherever she was, she was definitely in a better place.

**If you find that the Joker is not very … jokey, it's because I'm trying to follow the Young Justice, which is much grimmer and not much fun, and also because I can't think of any Joker worthy jokes. Sorry.**

**Up next in Part V: What's Red Hood going to do to Harley? And why kidnap her of all people? Will Raquel be able to rescue her? And him too?**

**Review if you like it, Critique if you don't.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm writing quite fast these days, because the story just keeps flowing.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter V: Disillusioned

"Empty! Again! Urgh!"

As she yelled the last word, if it was a word, she gave a frustrated kick at the table nearby. It went flying across the room, splintering into pieces as it hit the room.

"Rocket, I need you to chill," the voice in the commlink pleaded. "And unbroken evidence."

"We've gone over this over and over," Raquel couldn't help ranting, "But it's been empty, empty, bunch'a tugs, empty, empty, pub and empty. I wish he – I need you here."

A sigh came from Batgirl. "There's been an anonymous tip that someone's going to hit the mayor at the opening of the new theatre uptown. I'm on a compulsory stakeout. Batman and Robin are on another mission, and Nightwing's in Bludhaven. I'd ask the Team for help but…"

"It's Gotham. I get it," Raquel replied, before throwing herself onto a nearby chair. She was panting and beads of sweats were rolling down her forehead, in spite of the cold. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. As she did, she noticed red on her hand.

Blood.

It wasn't hers, so she scanned the area around her.

On the chair, there were bloodstain splattered everywhere. Surrounding it , there were also broken cords of rope.

"Did you find something?" Barbara was asking.

Raquel picked up one of the broken cords. Recently cut it seemed. She examined the remaining ropes on and around the chair. They seemed to have been bound around the chair, as if for holding…

"A captive. "

"What!" exclaimed the girl in the comm.

"He's holding someone captive, dammit," Raquel cursed. Fingering the cords in her hand, she inspected the rest of the attic. She stopped again at one of the stone walls, where she saw a random spray of bullet holes denting it. Almost afraid, she reached out one of hands, her fingers racing over holes.

"Rocket, do you see anything?"

A cold shiver went down her spine. It was reaching up to her, whirling inside, growing each passing minute. Revulsion. _Oh God no…_

"Rocket, anything wrong?"

It couldn't be. It could _never_ be-

"Raq! Are you still there?"

He was one of them, one of the Team. Life, death, it didn't change that. _Nothing_ changed that.

_But he did strap Robin to a timed bomb._

He's just confused, angry, as usual. He's just taking out on the poor host – person. He needed guidance.

"Do you still want to do this?"

He needed a friend.

She answered to through the commlink. "Yes, I do."

"Okay, I need you to describe to me what you see…"

~~~~000000~~~~~

"…Wake up America! Stop living in the dreamworld! They aren't heroes anymore-"

Cat Grant considered herself a reporter of class, and she took her job very seriously. Always on the roll, running the story and running after the story. It was a job that she was, and will be always proud of.

But loudmouth, good-for-nothings like that douche sitting in the middle of the studio 4? Doing nothing but criticize everything and everyone in the world? That wasn't reporting at all. She didn't understand why the GBS would even give a 'pundit' like Godfrey his own show. 'To keep up the ratings', they had said. If the world really liked this sort of shows, it probably would better if Wotan just went ahead and blocked the sun ...

She continued to sip her coffee, as she watched Godfrey through the glass, just as his ranting picked up pace.

"…for independence! It's time we keep this _heroes_ in check..."

She rolled her eyes. Good grief. To think GBS actually doubled this man's time slot. Nutjobs.

"…Up next: Is Batman's hands as clean as the Commissioner of Gotham claims? Or is someone on the Big Bat's payroll? See you folks after the break."

"Aiiiiiyyeeee!" Someone yelled behind her. Cat turned her head in time to see smoke coming from somewhere, filling up the office. Out of nowhere, a small capsule like object was thrown at her feet, then bursting into a puff of smoke.

Before she could stop herself, Cat already took in a breath, and she was starting sink to the ground. In her dizzied state, she noticed the people around were doing the same. Even in the cover of the gas, she was vaguely aware that someone walked pass her, dragging something along with him, heading directly into the recording studio.

Godfrey's indignant yells were the last thing that she heard before she passed out.

~~~~000000~~~~~

Batgirl was sitting on the parapet of the old City Hall building, where she had a perfect view of the theatre opening ceremony across the street. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the concrete wall, half-wishing that an explosion, or gunfire, or even a dance party would happen. After all, she could be somewhere else.

"Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" The old Clock tower three blocks down began to chime. "Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!"

Batgirl groaned. She just remembered that her thesis was due at 8 am the next day.

"The burdens of double life, I suppose," she huffed to herself, as she turned her eyes back onto the theatre opening. Another car had just driven up, and some small time celebrity stepped out. Batgirl sighed. Why couldn't the Mayor just hurry up already?

"Nightwing to Batgirl," an urgent voice rang through her commlink.

"Wings? What's up?" She responded, her eyes still glued on the theatre grounds.

"You have to stop Rocket. Right now."

"I haven't the faintest-"

"I know what you two've been doing," Nightwing cut in, "but it needs to stop. Now."

"Look, I know it sounds hopeless to you, but Rocket may succeed where we've failed, " Barbara argued heatedly, "They were good friends."

"That's not the point. Are there any televisions on your side?"

"Um, on a stakeout in the East End? The _old_ district?"

"Go and find one."

"Which part of 'stakeout' didn't you understand?"

"The tip's fake. There isn't going to be an attack on the mayor."

"How'd you know?"

"Find a television. It'll explain everything."

Batgirl rolled her eyes. "This had better be good." Swinging out her grappling hook, she shot it at clock tower, swinging herself to across the block. Landing on the next roof, she alternating between running and jumping, over the next couple of buildings, until she reached the city centre, where there were always several television screen playing the latest news.

Then she stopped short, and stared at the screen.

"Oh shit."

There was a blonde girl sitting in the centre of the news studio, behind a desk before the screens. This would hardly be out of the ordinary if she hadn't been painfully gagged and bound, or if there wasn't a man in a red mask standing behind her, with her gun aimed at her temple.

"_Good Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,"_ The person in the mask said, slowly and calmly. _"You probably have no idea who I am, and I'm going to leave it that way. I do sincerely apologise for interrupting your usual 'entertainment' with G. Gordon Godfrey, but I desperately needed to send a message to a certain someone out there. Before you ask, my phone cracked few days back, so yeah."_

"Now you know why?" Nightwing was back.

She took a deep breath. "Where are you?"

"Heading to the nearest zeta-tube in Bludhaven, you?"

"In the city centre. The GBS building is to far off in the west. I'll never make it by foot, even with the zeta-tube."

There was chilly pause on the end, before he answered. "Nor will I."

On the screen, the masked man had changed his tone. He began to speak directly to the camera. "_I know you're watching this, you. Your lounge break is from 8 to 9 every evening, and knowing you, you'd pick this channel. "_

"Rocket will find him now. She'll stop him."

"_Long ago, you did something terrible to a boy, just so you could hurt someone who cared about him. Well, that boy, he's back. And hell, he is pissed you are alive, and he will enjoy ending your miserable existence, but that's someday. Let's talk about now."_

Nightwing's voice rang in her ears. "She _can_ stop him. But I don't think she wants to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barbara hissed at him, annoyed.

On the ground below her, people had stopped at the television to watch. He was holding the girl on the chair closer to himself now, his empty hand forcibly lifting her chin to the camera. _"You know who she is, right? I don't know how much she's really worth to you. Girlfriend, lackey, but I don't care. But that's not the point."_

"She hasn't accepted his change yet. She isn't aware of what he's capable of.

"We have to trust her. She might save him yet."

"_Therapy or not, what matters is that she's one of your creations. She belongs to you."_

"Yes, but can she save her?"

He began to press the barrel more tightly against her head. _"No ransom, no bargains. I'm taking her away, the way you took me."_

As he began to squeeze the trigger, the television screens suddenly all fizzled into static.

**Sorry that it probably didn't give the confrontation expected, but the word count exceeded my usual. Don't worry, I'm already working on Part VI, and there will be the confrontation. It should be out soon!**

**Review if you like, Critique if you don't!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi. If anyone wondered, after writing Part V, I changed the story name to something else, because I thought "Power of a Sidekick" wasn't really a relevant anymore, but then I decided to change it back as an afterthought.**

**Here's the confrontation.**

Part VI: Mimicry  
Pulling back her fist, she launched another punch into the circuit board. Grabbing a handful of wires, she yanked it all out; causing the wires to burst into crackles and hisses.

As she had hoped, the entire electrical system crashed. To be sure, she took a glance outside the corridor. Lights, cameras, televisions, every thing was down. Good.

Casting the wires onto the ground, she leapt up, taking flight as the pink aura surrounded her. In the now dark office of the GBS building, she flew over the numerous unconscious bodies of its staff. She had to admit it was pretty slick, pumping the whole place with knock-out gas through the ventilation shafts. Fortunately, the gas had cleared by the time she got there. Not that the force aura surrounding her couldn't protect her from that, anyway.

"Batgirl to Rocket." A welcome voice fizzled through the communicator.

Rocket placed her fingers on the device in her ear, before pulling up to a lift landing, jabbing the lift button as she did. "Girl, where have you been?"

"Got distracted while watching Red Hood's latest ... show."

Raquel raised her eyebrow, even though she knew Batgirl couldn't see her. 'Show'. Talk about serious understatement.

As she stood about waiting, it suddenly hit her, and she smacked her forehead. No electricity, duh. Picking herself up again, she glided through the emergency door, flying up the stairwell. At every level, she stopped to take a look-about, before proceeding to the next floor.

"I take it you took down the power. Smart."

"Thanks, though seeing heaps of unconscious people wasn't what I expected when you suggested checking this place out," Raquel quipped, taking a right turn before swinging the door labeled 14 open.

"Listen, Nightwing and I are heading to the GBS station right now. Don't take him on y-"

"No time," Raquel interrupted a bit too abruptly, as she flew to level 15. "The back-up power here might kick in any second. If he acts as predicted, he will kil- take action with cams back up." Poking her head through door 15, she glanced at this level. Besides the usual bunch of civilians over the floor, the sight of two distinct lines scratched along the white tiles. Bingo.

"Batgirl, I'm moving in now. Considering he's a ex-Bat, I'm going to need radio silence for this. Rocket out."

Ignoring Batgirl's final protest, Rocket switched off her commlink. Arguably, it wasn't the wisest decision, but she felt unexplainably that she didn't really want to hear what Barbara had to say. Just in case…

Levitating herself several inches above the ground, she moved in, silently hovering above the insensible people lying over the floor. From where she was, it really appeared that everyone had just collapsed where they were standing. Coffee mugs were tipped on the floor, papers were just dropped, and some chairs were overturned. Raquel just floated by, keeping her eyes peeled and her guard up.

In the eerie silence, she could almost here the turmoil of emotions that were through her. There was the usual anticipation that came before battle, and also a little bit, okay, maybe a sizable amount of fear, plus dread. A whole lot of dread. She grinned slightly at the irony; here she was, so anxious to meet him, and so anxious not to.

The trail was heading left now, so she veered in that direction, entering a corridor of what seemed to be recording studios.

That's it, of course.

Cautiously and quietly, she passed each studio door, listening for any sound. She stopped at the door marked 4, because that where the scratching led. Taking in a breath, she swung the door open quickly, surrounding her body with a force bubble as she did.

Nothing happened and after a moment she relaxed, dropping her defenses, but her muscles stayed tenses. Pushing herself back into the air, she flew quickly through the studio. She recognized a few faces on the ground; the blonde reporter –Kit, or was it Kate? – who usually worked in Metropolis, and that new pundit who ran the television show, the one who stole the 'g' symbol from google. Someone in the silicon valley should consider suing him.

"Mmphf!"

It was soft, but she heard it. At that moment, she found the glass panel that separated the recording studio from the backstage. Peering through, her eyes met with those a familiar blonde girl. Her hair disheveled, and there cut marks on her face. She was still bound to the chair, and something else too. Something that Rocket had seen less than twenty-four ago.

As Raquel burst through the glass and settled herself by the girl, half of her was full of disbelief, the other of revulsion. That feeling she had at the old attic was gushing back into, but she forced herself to maintain a manner of detached professionalism. She worked speedily, unbinding the metal bomb from the girl. The red number were flickering, but she still had five minutes. That's good.

"Everything is gon'na be all right," she said automatically. As she unbound the metal bomb from the girl, she wondered why she said that. This girl, she obviously was no innocent civilian; the fact that all the staff in GBS were still alive was proof enough that he didn't take innocent lives at random. He was so full of anguish…

Wait, where was he? She let her guard down…

"It didn't for me. It won't be for her," a low voice came from behind her. Rocket spun around, holding the still-ticking bomb in her hands, face to face with the man in the red mask.

"Rocket," the man greeted coldly, both his hands in his pocket. Even in the darkness, she noticed that there were two handguns strapped to his belt.

"Jason," was all she replied. Her emotions were running crazy; part of her wanted to bash his up, take him down for such cruelty, yet another part wanted to run up and embrace him. So she did neither, taking her stand such that she was directly between him and the shuddering blonde girl. She sized him up. He was taller now, at the age he would be now if he hadn't di – passed. Even through the filter, she could recognized his voice. It was him. Or at least it seemed so.

"The name's Red Hood now, which I know you know," he said coolly, his empty hand tapping lightly on his ear.

Rocket narrowed her eyes at him. "Robin's commlink. You knew I was coming."

"Hacked the frequency four hours ago, no duh." His answer was nonchalant, as he simply rolled his head back, cracking his shoulder muscles.

A chill ran down her spine. It felt like meeting a ghost. The part of her that was glad that he was back felt, somehow, less glad.

"I'm taking her," she told him slowly, putting one hand on the girl shoulder. Rocket could feel the girl heaving up and down, her blue eyes watching the exchange in fear.

"Do you know who she is?" The steely voice echoed back in the studio. Through the white slits on his mask, she could feel him glaring at her, as if trying to burn through her.

Rocket decided to that if he was playing it cool, so she would too. "Well, I'm guessing she's got something to do with the Joker, since he was the one who, you know, popped you off."

She could practically feel him seething from across the room. She hoped that what she learnt in training from Nightwing was right. Anger almost meant less focused, right?

What she heard next threw her off though. "She's his sidekick, Rocket. The damned man's sidekick."

Suddenly, things made a lot more sense to her. "So then-"

"-if the sidekick is the lighter side of a hero," Red Hood cut in, "then logically the sidekick of villain, which the Joker undoubtedly is, would be the darker side."

Rocket glanced briefly at the girl again. Looking into her blue eyes, all she saw was a helpless, afraid young girl who desperately wanted to go home. Maybe she was used by the Joker, but as his 'darker side'. Rocket couldn't see that.

"I'm doing a service to community by taking her out, Rocket," he had continued on, "Of course, I'll do a better one when I take _him_ out-"

"What happened to you?" It was Rocket's turn to interrupt him. "What happened to that kid who wanted nothing better than to be a hero? A real hero? Not some, well," –gesturing at him, –"vigilante with a crazy sense of justice."

All that came back was a grim answer. "That kid died four years ago."

The sickened feeling she had in the pit of stomach was growing stronger and stronger, but she ignored it. "I don't believe that."

"Clean you ears, Rocket. Welcome to reality."

The pink aura that covered her glowed brighter. She took a fighting stance, facing him. "You have to get through me if you want her."

"Covered that already."

At that moment, he whipped his other hand, revealing a dead-man's switch. He released the trigger.

All of nowher, Rocket started hearing a beeping sound. Realizng it came from the bomb in her hands, she hurriedly read the screen on it.

_0:04…_

She could have sworn they talked for less than five- Oh, the switch. Right.

_0:03…0:02…_

"You can't save her and everyone in the building at the same time."

Rocket glared at the red-masked man, damn him and his foresight. As she created a force bubble around the bomb, she noticed him starting to walk towards her, passing her by to the girl.

_0:01…_

He grabbed the back of the chair, and started to drag the girl out with him through the door. The blonde girl didn't make another sound, but her blue eyes widened as she passed out of the room, staring desperately at Rocket. The other girl could only curse, before focusing all her energy on the task at hand.

_0:00…_

_BOOOOOOMMMM!_

It wasn't a ghost. It wasn't even like a shadow of him.

It was mimicry. A mockery, of someone who once dear to her.

He was right. Jason was dead.

**Will be back soon for the aftermath in Part VII**

**Review if you like it, Critique if you don't. **


	7. Chapter 7

**This takes place about a week from Part VI.**

Part VII: Farewells

"Hey."

The African-American girl in front her didn't reply, so Barbara silently joined her at her side. Raquel had a bouquet in hand, but she hadn't placed it on the memorial yet. Watching how she wrung the stalks in her hand, Barbara thought it a wonder that light-colored paper wrapped around it hadn't been ripped to shreds yet. Her eyes were fixed again on the glowing blue memorial image, her lips pressed together.

Finally, she broke the quiet. "How's she?"

"Fantastic, actually," Barbara answered. Typing something on the PDA attached to her gauntlet, she opened a blue screen and showed it to her friend. On the Gotham Gazette website, the bold headline "TELEVISION HOSTAGE SURVIVES FALLS FROM NEWS BUILDING" next to "VICTIM OF VIGILANTE ASSAULT SAVED WITH WAYNE FOUNDATION OPERATION."

"Told you she'd pull through," Barbara remarked rather smugly, "Ex- or no, I've seen Harlequin survive worse than a toss from fifteen stories."

A ghost of smile appeared on Raquel's face. "Wayne Foundation's a nice touch."

"Well, it was the least that could be done, considering…" She left that hanging, turning back to face the glowing image of the boy. "Anyway, she has to return to Arkham for rehab again. The trauma, it got her pretty bad."

No one else was in the Grotto besides them, so when they stopped speaking, a sorrowful silence just permeated all around them.

"I'm leaving, by the way."

"What?" Barbara gasped, falling a few steps back in shock.

"I mean the Team. I'm joining the League," Raquel explained, amused by Barbara's reaction.

"Thanks for the scare." The other girl's voice was dripping with sarcasm. On a more serious note, she asked, "Hang a sec, I thought you didn't-"

"Yeah, well,I reconsidered it. " Raquel shrugged. "I reckon now's a time as good as any. Besides," – her voice dropped an octave, just slightly more than a whisper, - "Being in the Team, being in a _family_ … it hurts, I guess. I just want some space."

Barbara gave no words, only a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. Glancing back at the memorial, almost hesitantly, she asked what had been disturbing her for some time. "Should we take it down?"

Raquel paused a moment in though. Then she said, "No. Robin – Jason was still a hero. And he gets a place amongst the hero. Nothing changes that."

Barbara nodded, understanding. Giving her one final squeeze on the shoulder, she turned to leave. She recognized that Raquel wanted some time to alone at the memorial, probably a final farewell of sorts.

As she heard the footsteps fading away, Raquel raised her head back at the memorial. Reluctantly, she finally stepped forward, releasing her grip on the bouquet, letting the flowers fall, scattered on the memorial stage. Distancing herself again from it, she raised her head again, eyes on the blue image once more.

She parted her lips to speak. She had so much to say, so much she wished she could say to the real him, so much she wished she did say when she met him five days ago.

Nothing came out.

She wanted to yell at him, scream at him. She wanted to beat him up, over and over again. How dare he! How dare he destroy so precious a memory! How dare he shame the heroism of her friend! How dare he destroy Jason!

She wanted to destroy it; the memorial, the grotto, everything. Even though she didn't have the belt on now, she was sure she could do considerable damage. She was mad enough.

But she couldn't.

She wanted to tell him that she missed him, the grammar-less emails she would get every so often, occasional weird phone coversations. She had few friends with such a laconic yet droll sense of humour. She really wanted him back.

But she couldn't.

She wasn't sure if it was 'couldn't' or 'wouldn't. All she knew was nothing came out.

Just like how nothing came out of her failed 'rescue mission.'

She wanted to apologize for being unable to reach to him. She wanted to beg for forgiveness, for losing faith, for not trying harder. She wanted to say sorry, to him. As if he was the one who was hurt.

But she couldn't. Not a single word.

Instead, tears streaked down her face as she covered her mouth, trying to hold it in, trying to hold all of her together, as pointless it was.

But she couldn't.

She crumbled to ground, with the sobs echoing back against grotto walls, as she wept, and wept, harder than she ever did before.

Yes, family. It hurts.

**This is not really chapter. More like a closure to this particular arc. While writing this, I was listening to the song "Say Something", but the Pentatonix cover, not the original. Pretty helpful for setting the mood.**

**Not the end yet, there's still the epilogue. So if you're waiting for Jason to redeem himself, that'd be his last chance. If he takes it…**

**Review if you like it, Critique if you don't.**

**I actually mean the last bit. Seriously.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here it is! The final part! This takes place sometime after Young Justice: Invasion. As a treat, this one's much longer.**

Part VIII: Epilogue

Beyond any doubt, Gotham was possibly the worst city that ever existed. However, there were days were crime did take a vacation, regardless of what a certain caped crusader thought. It was Independence Day after all; the alien invaders were being shipped off, the heroes were doing their job, what's not to celebrate?

Amber sighed enviously. She watched the throngs of people walking on the streets, all in good cheery and jovial as they commemorated the holiday. Some were even carrying flags, while others an assortment of food, shopping bags, and phones.

Oh well, flying classes weren't going to pay for themselves, and she wanted that bonus, she was going to have to work for it. As if anyone in their right mind shopped for books on Independence Day.

With a groan, she finally dropped the box at the foot of the bookshelf. Rubbing her arms, she gave another sigh as she estimated the how long it would take for her to refill the entire shelf. Grudgingly, she picked up a stack of books, grimacing at the weight of these. Seriously, people needed to stop making hard covers. They're such pains to carry around.

"Excuse me," a quiet voice suddenly came from behind her.

"YAAAH!" Amber cried out, jumping back as some of the books slipped and clattered to floor. Getting over her initial shock, she turned to face the owner of the voice.

He was a young man, probably in his early twenties. Dressed in the tight black body suit, with a brown overcoat, he carried what looked like a red motorcycle helmet under his arm. A pair of dark shades hid his eyes, not that his long black fringe (well, black save a single white lock) wouldn't have anyway. Amber would have thought him kind of hot, if she didn't notice what was strapped to his belt.

"Hehe, um…no weapons in the shop?" She said with an uneasy smile. Inside her, she was silently cursing herself for saying to the stupidest thing you could say to a guy with two guns. _Two_ guns. She prayed he would just take the money and go.

Fortunately, the man seemed to ignore what her words. "Do you anymore of that?"

That caught her off guard. "Anymore of what?"

"That book." He gestured behind him, at the locked glass showcase that faced the sidewalk. "The one on display."

It took a while for Amber to absorb what he had said. When she did, she didn't look any less skeptical. "You want a book?"

"No, I actually want a pizza," he deadpanned, without even of hint of jest. "And throw in some fries."

Casting another dubious look his way, Amber headed over to the display to check the book, with the man following close behind her. "Oh, that one, right."

"I can't seem to find any copies of it here," he told her, one of his hands digging back into the pockets of his coat. Amber watched on rather nervously, hoping he wasn't the type that carried knives. Before she left Fawcett City, she had heard all kinds of horrible stuff that happened in Gotham, and she would really, really rather not experience it first here.

Seeing that he was staring very intently at her, Amber swallowed her fear and stuttered out, "Umm… yeah, it's been… um … s-selling like hotcakes. I-It's a really good book. That's the l-last copy. Yep."

She felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine as she waited for him to respond. She rather hoped he wouldn't break the glass case – that would come out from her pay if he did. The boss didn't pay his insurance often.

He finally spoke it. "I'll take it."

Shaking with nervousness, Amber couldn't stop the jumble of words that poured out of her mouth. "T-take it? Um, do you mean 'take it' Like take-away? Or like 'take it' like you accept it? Or 'take it' like you'll threat- um ask me to hand over and leave? Or 'take it' like you want to buy it-"

"I want to buy it!" He cut in impatiently, sliding the helmet – or was it? – out from under his arm just so he could fold his arms.

"S-sure! Right-a-way! Hehe." Her voice came out like a squeak. Her hands quivering, she removed a key from her pocket. Sliding it into the keyhole, she turned it, before removing the book from its stand. Fumbling slightly, she finally placed it in his hands.

"Er… it's twenty bucks. You know, first editions, usually hard covers; yeah…" she just trailed off.

Wordlessly, the young man produced two ten-dollar bills from his pocket, crushing them carelessly in her hand. Giving her a slight nod, he headed toward the door. Within a second, he was gone.

Gotham was weird.

Amber gave a sigh of relief. Shrugging her shoulders and trying to shake off the tension in her muscles, she made her way back to the 'Mystery' section, where the books were still screaming to be unpacked.

Outside the shop back on the street, the young man went over to a nearby streetlamp, where he had stopped his motorcycle. After expressing slight surprise that it hadn't been stolen yet, he returned to examining his purchase. While most of his attention was on the name on the cover, he did find the title intriguing.

'The Heroes of Our Time'. It did have a nice ring to it.

~~~~000000~~~~~

Raquel felt like a wreck.

The only way she could keep herself sane was by examining and re-examining the gifts that she had received; some were new ones, freshly-wrapped with their cards still stuck to them, others were old ones from her bridal shower.

She glanced at the brand-new clock on her desk, one of the many presents she had received over the week.

It was 2 am in the morning. That left her with 6 hours. In 6 hours, her entire world was going to change, not that was exactly new. She had an oddly fuzzy, sensation inside of her. It made her feel like running and screaming like a lunatic, and at the same time made her feel like bursting in tears and crying. As if trying to decide which was better, she put down her gifts and stopped a while in thought.

Eventually, she was interrupted by a knock on the door, and she heard the door open.

"Hey, Raq? You still up?" It was Zatanna. She had offered to stay over at Raquel's place as 'emotional support against pre-marital breakdown', as Artemis had dryly described. Both of them had grown closer during their membership in the league, being the first in the Team to be officially inducted, if excluding Red Arrow.

Not waiting for a reply, Zatanna entered to room, shutting the door behind her. Doing a quick scan of all the presents scattered everywhere, she passed judgment. "It's official. You're a wreck, and so is your room."

"Not helping," Raquel groaned, burying her face in hands. She had been going over some of the new dresses for the third time.

"Did someone actually send this?" Zatanna continued, deliberately apathetic to Raquel's condition. She held up a lingerie piece, which tumbled out of one of the boxes.

Raquel lifted her head from her hands so that she could pull a face of disgust. "Probably from my mother's side. Give it over, will you?"

After Zatanna handed the offending piece of fabric to her, Raquel whipped opened her window. Without a trace of hesitation, she flung it out.

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "Littering? Such a role model to young girls."

Raquel shrugged. "I've got stress that I need to work out."

"And you took it out on non-sentient mesh of polyester. I've got to try that sometimes."

Raquel didn't bother answer. She picked up a very lacy satin cushion, with pink hearts adorned all over it, sent by Barbara as a joke, and threw at Zatanna. She wasn't really aiming of course, so the brunette girl stepped aside with ease.

"Ta-da! Ladies and Gentlemen, give it for Raquel, the star cushion thrower!" She announced as if in one of her shows, even faking a couple of cheers and wolf-whistles.

"Still not helping," growled Raquel, before resignedly throwing herself back first onto her bed, ignoring all the presents being crushed under her weight. "I think I'm going insane."

"You want to me call Arkham?"

Raquel propped herself up so she could glare at her friend.

Of course, the magician just knowingly laughed at her expression. "Okay, okay, let's clean up."

Helping her friend off the bed, Zatanna focused and her expression changed. Raising one of her hands, she commanded, "Ekam sevlesruoy taen!"

Immediately, all the presents stacked themselves into neat piles and the wrappers went into the bin. The clothes that had been stashed on the floor flew up and went back to the closet. Admiring her handiwork, she folded her arms and challenged Raquel, "Well?"

"You did a Mary Poppins without breaking into song, I'm so proud," Raquel scoffed, her old humor returning as she forgot her nervousness.

Zatanna just grinned back slyly, before changing to a more maternal tone. "Alright," she said as she clapped her hands together. "You need so rest. Tomorrow's a big day."

"Understatement of the Century," Raquel muttered slightly, but she obediently hopped into the bed, sliding herself under the sheets.

The curtains flapping and a cold breeze rushing in reminded them both that the window was still open. Zatanna motioned for Raquel to stay, while she went over the window. As she did, she noticed a thin envelope, with 'Raquel' scrawled on it, was stuck on its frame. Niftily picking it between her fingers, she shut the window, then carried the letter to the girl in bed.

"Careful when you throw out your stuff next time," she advised her friend as she handed the letter to her, "You might end up throwing out something important."

For a brief moment, a strange expression crossed Raquel's face, then she just carelessly tossed the envelope on her bedside table.

"Nights, Zee," she said, as her head fell back onto her pillow, as she curled up int the blankets.

"Nights, Raq." Seeing that her friend finally seemed to relaxing, with a light heart Zatanna headed to the door, remembering to switch off the lights before closing the door.

The minute Raquel heard Zatanna's footsteps fade away, she shot back upright. Flicking on the nightlight, she grabbed the letter beside her. She had spent the last four hours going over her gifts, so when a new letter appeared suddenly, it definitely warranted an investigation.

Flipping over the envelope, her eyes widened when she read the initials written near the flap.

'R.H.' Oh Lord.

Almost tearing it open, she found a thin slip of paper in it. As quickly as her now clumsy fingers could, she unfolded it, her eyes quickly going over the words:

**_I, Jason Todd, solemnly swear from__ this day forth that I will __try __strive to be the hero that you once believed me to be. _**

**_How's that for a wedding present?_**

**_Robin Hood_**

**_P.S. I need your autograph. Plz send to the old email. Will hack when free._**

**_P.S.S. Write a sequel. I hate loopholes._**

At first glance it seemed like some sick prank, but as she re-read it over and over again, she felt it style was so - familiar; short, awkward, and most importantly, sincere.

Switching the night light off, she dropped herself back onto the bed. The letter, she still held between her fingers, and it being there gave her an odd sense of peace, quenching the turmoil she had been fighting for the last 6 hours.

As she shut her eyes, the only thing left bothering her was a small mistake in the letter.

You see; she never really stopped believing.

~~~~000000~~~~~

"You know, it would help immensely if you just help me out sometime. We are partners."

The Red Hood was leaning against the alley wall, still flipping through the pages of his book, delibrately ignoring him. To anyone else, this kind of behavior wouldn't be tolerated, but if there was one thing that Arsenal had learnt from the last week, it was that when he wanted to, the Red Hood was a professional and that made him a valuable asset.

Another thug came running up at him, yelling wildly as he raised a baseball pat. Without blink, Arsenal ducked and shot at him with his cybernetic arm. The bullet had hit the thug in the eye, and he cried out as he dropped the bat. Arsenal then kicked the man's knees, forcing him to the ground. Nonchalantly, he pointed his cybernetic arm at the man's head, ready to fire.

Just as he did, his arm was suddenly was yanked upwards and the empty shots just rang in the air. He turned to face the red-masked man, who had finally let go of his arm.

"What the hell was that for?" Arsenal barked at him, not masking his annoyance.

"No random kills," was all he got as a reply, as the man punched the thug between his eyes, knocking him out swiftly.

Arsenal raised a suspicious brow. "Great, now you're going all pacifist?"

"Hardly," the Red Hood disagreed, producing a few chains from his pockets. "Just minimizing bloodshed. If you get your hands dirty, get them dirty for the right reasons."

Behind his mask, Arsenal rolled his eyes, but he still helped the man as he tied the thugs in a corner. As he did, the other man asked him a rather strange question. "Have you ever thought of calling us a name?"

"What? The two of us?"

"Uh-huh."

"There are only two of us."

"There'll be more in the future," the Red Hood pointed out, "It'll be better if we called ourselves something, so people don't mix us up with the Justice League."

"Good point. What about 'the Titans'?"

"…No."

"Okay… What about 'the Outlaws'?

From a distance, they could hear sirens were wailing, and they were closing in.

The Red Hood turned to him. "Must be the shots. We'd better make ourselves scarce."

Arsenal nodded in acknowledgement. "I've got some business in Star City, so I'll meet you at the rendezvous."

After they made their curt farewells, Arsenal headed off. The Red Hood, seeing that the police were still some distance off, deciding to go back to reading. Before he started re-reading the book all over again for the fourth time, he stopped at the acknowledgement page, unwittingly and rather tenderly tracing out the words printed there.

**_For Jason_**

Before he could flip that page, he heard screeching off tires against the road. Sighing, he shut the book, slid it under his coat. Still, it wasn't as if he didn't already memorize how the intro went.

**_With so many 'heroes' out there these day, it's really easy get confused what heroes are._**

Drawing the grappling gun from his coat, he shot it upwards, waiting for the 'clink' and the tug on his hand.

**_A lot of people think it's comes with having power; whether you're some alien from a distant planet, or some meta-human from next door._**

"Freeze!" Some cop was aiming their pistols at him. Pay them no heed, the Red Hood just hit the button on the gun, confident that the bullets would completely miss him as he zipped up the building.

_**Some people feel that it comes with hard work; by training, studying, working long nights**._

Swinging himself forward, he did neat backflip before landing elegantly on the rooftop.

_**These people aren't completely wrong, but neither are they quite right. You see, it was good to have these things, but they aren't enough.**_

"Hold it right there!"

Oh, so there were cops on the roof too. Probably have been tracking him down for sometime. Ah well, this is what police warrant did.

Agilely, he leapt forwards, slicing neatly through their shots, before taking them all out within a second. He didn't even bother to draw out a gun.

_**To be a hero, one needed to have a heart; A heart of compassion, of self-sacrifice, and of love.** _

With the distractions gone, he launched himself forward, scampering stealthily yet speedily to the other end. With the police here, he wouldn't be surprised if the Bat-folk turned up.

He couldn't afford that, definitely. A cell? A spot at Arkham? No thanks.

_**To be hero, one needed give fiercely, endlessly and unconditionally.** _

Catching hold of a water pipe, he slid down, dropping himself back to the ground. Running over to where he stopped his bike, he shoved his keys and started the engine.

_**Admidst all the powerhouse, atheletes and geniuses, it became to easy to forget the simplest truth:**_

He had places to go, things to do.

A promise to keep.

**_The greatest hero anyone could be is a friend._**

The End

* * *

**If you didn't work it out, Amber was the young pilot in the episode "Misplaced" who was flying Billy to Happy Harbour. I know she was from Fawcett City, but I wanted to use someone already in the YJ universe, and she seems the most 'movable'. So… I moved her.**

**That's it. I stayed all night to finish this, and it was worth it. Thanks for reading! After my exams, I'll probably start on a new fic, and re-edit this one. So please critque if you don't like it. Review if you do, of course.**


End file.
